Train of thoughts
by Ruby Koneko
Summary: There is a war. There are victims. Those who go. Those who stay. St. Mungos. A girl. Train of thoughts. Original characters. A whole lot of angst. And some more angst.


Disclamer: I don't own anything Harry Potter. I do own Veruca, Justine, Cherry and Jeremy. They are mine to emotionally abuse when I feel angsty.

Waiting room, St. Mungo's hospital. Bare, white walls. How could one even guess it was a wizarding hopital at all? Steps echoing through the hallway one her left and ahead. There is no one in her hallway. She counts the steps..3,4,8,13âcounting skill are obviously not an option now. The knot in chest body is twisting, like an alien creature growing inside her, feeding on her sanity. And she can't escape from the prison of her skin and bones. Finally, somebody is coming in her direction. She doesn't know how big a void is there in between her thoughts. A version of Hell, supposedly.

It's Justine. She's walking in huge steps, like getting there faster will make some difference. Her robes are dishelleved, but her bun is still perfect, her brown hair sleek, shiny and under controll. Veruca finds this makes her bitter at Justine, and remembers how Justine's bun always remindede her at professor McGonagall. "What..how is it?," asks her Slytherin friend in low, husk tone. Shame washes over Veruca, for how could she forget what Justine looks like under her coll reserved exterior. She puts her little finger on her lip, while trying to come up with an answer, and realizes the skin around her nail is bleeding. "I..We don't know yet. She's in..stasis." She often tried to shield Justine so she makes an effort to sound encouraging, wich is hard when your voice feels like shattered glass. Justine slowly nods, and sits carefully beside her. "Now the clud of gloom has doubled," says Verucas Inner Despair, dryly. Still, a tiny part of her feels, lessâless something. "Misery loves company." "Shut up! You're not helping." "Nothing is." "Still. Don't"

It's quiet. Jeremy still isn't here. He should be. This is his to carry too. He's also her best friend. She's angry. It doesn't help, so she stores her bubble of anger deeper inside, with everything else. Justine is in her own train of thought. She isn't trying to converse. It reminds Veruca that she loves Justine. And it hurts, because she loves Cherry even more. Cherry. Saying her name makes it more real. She doesn't need that. Think about something else. Don't think about her pale face, a thud of her body when it fell, about people running like cattle, how for a terrifying moment you thught no one was going to help you. She can feel it again, like it's happening right now. Don't. Maybe Justine felt her fight agains herself, and she gave her a gentle look. "Knight Bus arrives at 17.15," she says. And Jeremy is on it. But she doesn't say that. It hangs in the air. If he'd come earlier, an hour earlier, Veruca would have sobbed her soul out on his shoulder. And now..she's not the same person from an hour ago. She's still sitting on that bench, but it feels as if her inside is slowly and irreversibly polyjuicing. A doctor is standing in front of them. Veruca didn't noice him come. "You can see her now. If you want." She stares at him. "Of course I do, you idiot," rings in her head for a moment. "Yes. Sure." He walks away "More bad news to bring" , and she goes to the door, and inside.

No tubes. No beeping noises. Just her friend in a white bed. The firecrackers of anguish in her chest. The noise of silence clouds her feelings. She can almost sense the Healing spells wich are keeping Cherry's life inside her body. The air is heavy from magic. She sits besides the bed. She takes Cherry's hand. Heavy and limp. It remindes her of leather gloves Cherry had back in the second year. How tiny her hads were! "Cherry," she says, not louder then a sigh, and then realizes how utterly stupid that was. Charry can't hear her. Anymore. Not a word.

So she just sits there numbly, listening the the absence of sound and willing the clocks to go faster.

I thought of this while playing basketball in my yard.

It's reflective. It's not supposed to make a whole lot of sence.

Your thoughts?

Love, Ruby


End file.
